


This Christmas

by TheRedWulf



Series: Stansa One Shots [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baratheon!Babies, Christmas, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Parent(s), Marriage, May/December Relationship, Modern Era, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, plot holes, stansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Modern - In which Stannis’ impulsive decision results in many beautiful Christmases...Picset is viewableHERE





	This Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> A little blurb, not my greatest, but something to make you smile. 
> 
> Have to keep the fall love rolling! :D (shut up, I know its too early for Christmas).
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
Thank you for reading!

Stannis looked to his nephew and the brunette woman on his arm, frowning deeply. “Where is Sansa?”

“What?” Joffrey scoffed. “Like I care.”

“What?” Stannis set his glass of club soda aside. 

“Joffrey is _my_ boyfriend now” the brunette stated and Stannis fixed her with a glare that had her melting in her designer shoes. Good, he inwardly scoffed at her silence. You’re better silent, you harpy.

“I dumped her,” Joffrey smirked. “I am with Marg now.” 

“Sansa buried her parents three months ago” Stannis stated. 

“So?” Joffrey shrugged. “She was a prude. Wouldn’t put out---”

“Did you dump her before or after the funeral” Stannis glared, enjoying the way that Joffrey faded under the look. 

“I dunno, during? After?” Joffrey gave a weak, half-hearted shrug and fled with his new girlfriend into the Christmas Eve party beyond. 

Stannis clenched his jaw, more angry than he had been in a long time. Joffrey had always been a spoiled, cruel little shit, but this was peak asshole, even for him. 

Glancing around the party, seeing the flow of alcohol and the way the couples clung to each other, Stannis shook his head. 

“No” he muttered to himself and strode from the party, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he stormed out the front door and to his BMW. Unlocking it, he slid behind the wheel, tearing out of the private drive, doing his best to remember where the Stark house was. 

It wasn’t that he was friends with Ned Stark, in fact, Ned had been Robert’s best friend and a source of constant turmoil in his relationship with his brother. But Ned Stark was a good man, honorable if naive. It wasn’t right that Sansa be left to bear this burden alone. Not tonight. 

Several months ago, Ned and Catelyn, had been on their way back from dinner when a tractor-trailer had crossed the center divide, crushing their sedan. Their elder son Robb, and Robb’s wife Talisa, had also been in the car. None of them had survived. 

Stannis had gone to the funeral, if only in support of his elder brother’s loss, but he had been fixated by the quiet strength of the eldest Stark child, Sansa. 

She was tall, slender to the point of being willowy and she had been dressed incredibly modest for a woman in her mid-twenties. Something Stannis found that he admired. While he was much older than her, at 43, he didn’t feel ashamed of finding her quite beautiful. 

He was not ashamed that she had haunted his thoughts, twining her way through the back of his mind at all hours.

What he was ashamed of, was the way that Joffrey had ignored her at the funeral while Sansa had tried to wrangle her three younger siblings. Stannis found himself stepping in, scooping up the youngest child, who was only a few years old, and helping Sansa to pile everyone into the black SUV that would carry them to the wake at the Stark house. 

She had removed her sunglasses, ones that had previously hidden her tear-swollen eyes, looking up at him to thank him for his help. 

_ “There is no need to thank me” he has assured her, helping her behind the wheel before stepping back and watching her drive away from the cemetery. _

The wake had been a somber affair, the three younger children hiding in their rooms as Sansa stood alone, accepting condolences and hollow words from people she barely knew. She had stood stall, an impossible pillar of strength. He admired her for that, for her ability to stand against the horrors of life and stay upright.

When the time came and the others returned to their cars and happier lives, Stannis found himself alone in the kitchen with her, carrying her plate after plate, cup after cup as she loaded the dishwasher. 

_ “Why are you here?” she asked as she dried her hands and wiped her damn cheeks. “You didn’t even like my father.”_

_“You don’t have to like someone to respect them,” he replied. “And I have lost my parents, I know what it's like to suddenly be alone.”_

_“What am I supposed to do now?” she whispered, swallowing a sob as she held to the kitchen counter._

_“You keep moving, you keep fighting,” he said, moving to her side. “Because if you stop, you’re lost.”_

_She choked on a cry and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. He held her as she cried, finally breaking loose and mourning the family she had lost. He held her in the darkness of the Stark kitchen, smoothing her hair with an awkward hand until she was quiet, breathing deeply. He held her until she swayed on her feet, exhaustion setting in._

_Lifting her easily, he carried her to her bedroom, or one she guided him to anyway, and tucked her into bed. Leaving her at peace, or some semblance of it, as he made his exit from the great house._

She had not been far from his mind since; admiration for her growing each time Robert spoke of her fight to keep custody of her siblings. She had moved back home, and continued to refuse Robert’s offers of financial help. Sansa Stark had given up her life, a career, to care for others, something that not many people would do. 

Stannis, of course, was not a man of great sentiment or affection. He was cold, aloof, known at Stag Imports for his low tolerance of small talk and bullshit. He terrified secretaries, CEOs and interns alike, a fact that did not escape him. 

He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he would likely not marry or father children of his own. A sad truth that he would never admit hung heavily on his heart. 

While Robert was free to womanize and father bastards, and Renly could carry on affairs all over King’s Landing, Stannis was not of the same ilk. He was too steady, too calm to give himself over to empty, spur of the moment sex and infatuation. 

But with Sansa….she haunted him. Haunted his dreams. His waking moments. She had infected his brain and he could not stop thinking about her. 

He had rationalized it, reasoned his distance away by reminding himself that she was with Joffrey, with his ignorant, selfish nephew. But now...

Gripping the steering wheel with a white knuckle hold, he turned down a road he _thought_ looked familiar, sighing in relief when he spotted the black SUV in the drive of the Stark house. He had only had to drive around for fifteen minutes before he found it. That had to be a good sign right?

Parking beside her SUV, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tugged his tie away, tossing them across the back seat before making his way to the door. He could see through the window a small christmas tree with a few presents beneath it, and it made his mouth twitch in a smile. He was glad to see they were celebrating the holiday. He had been concerned they would ignore it altogether.

Knocking, he felt sudden panic. He had _no_ idea why he was here, other than it was simply _not right_ that they be abandoned. Not today, and certainly not tomorrow. 

A few minutes later, Sansa opened the door, looking up at him in surprise. She wore an oversized tan sweater with a short plain black skirt, her feet bare and fiery hair in a messy sort of bun at the top of her head. 

“Stannis” she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“Hi” he exhaled, shifting on his feet. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I don’t know--I mean, Joffrey showed up at the party and I--”

“Felt bad for me?” she gave a watery laugh. “Perfect.”

“No, not at all” he shook his head. “But neither should you be alone. It’s Christmas Eve, and I know it won’t be easy.”

“Easy” she stepped aside, allowing him entry into the house and she closed the door behind him. “Nothing in the last three months has been easy.” 

“I know” he said lamely. “Is there anything I can do? How can I help?” 

She raised her shoulders in a weak shrug, doing her best to smile, “Any good at necromancy?”

“Terribly rusty, I am afraid” he replied and she laughed, wiping her eyes again. 

“What about gingerbread?” she motioned to the kitchen. “I am trying to make cookies, for tomorrow, but...I am terrible.” 

“Maybe we can figure it out together,” he reasoned. “I mean, my MBA has to be good for something, right?” 

“Unless it's a ‘Masters in Baking Administration’ I doubt it will be helpful here” she countered and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Let’s give it a shot anyways” he said and she gave a nod, leading him in the kitchen. 

Sansa watched Stannis from the corner of her eye as they moved in the spacious kitchen. Of all the people to show up on her doorstep tonight, she never would have guessed it would be Stannis Baratheon. 

She remembered well his strong, encouraging presence at the funeral and wake. She remembered him helping her to get Bran and Rickon into the car at the cemetery and helping her to clean up the house after the others had gone. 

She knew that he wasn’t close with her father, having heard Robert talk of him before, but still, he stayed and helped her when everyone else had abandoned her. 

In the blink of an eye, she became a mother to 3 children. Well, not Arya so much as she was 18 to Sansa’s 25, but Bran and Rickon were both 10 and under, unplanned sons that her parents adored. 

So, while Arya was leaving for college in January, Sansa was a mother to two young boys who were incredibly angry with the world. She had no idea what she was doing. She was lost...but...

With him, in Stannis’ arms in this very kitchen, the world had stopped spinning out of control and she had calmed, able to breathe and think clearly. He had held her to the surprisingly strong wall of his lean chest, soothing her in that unsure way of his. He had been an anchor, a rock of ages that she found solace from the tides of grief with.

She was ashamed to admit that, while she had seen Stannis many times before, she had never truly looked at him before that day. He was tall--very tall, in fact, lean and broad with a dark, fierce look that could cut through the strongest of men. His deep grey-blue eyes were surprisingly soft and his greying hair was quite attractive. 

It could be the chaos of her life, the out-of-control spiral that she found herself in, but now, all she could imagine as she baked beside Stannis, was grabbing him by the shirt and pulling his scowling mouth to her own. 

She wondered, averting her face to avoid the flush in her cheeks, if Stannis was as intense in the bedroom as he was here in the kitchen. She shouldn’t be having such thoughts, but once her mind journeyed down that path, she couldn’t stop.

Would this man, strong, silent and imposing, be a dominating lover? Would he be commanding, but gentle, showing her body the nuances of pleasure and lust? Would be be soft-spoken, whispering filthy nothings into her ear with that deep, husky voice of his until she was a puddle at his feet? 

Her relationship with Joffrey had never progressed physically, despite Joffrey’s constant pushing for it, and looking back, she was grateful for that. Beyond a stupid, reckless prom night with Harrold Hardyng, she had no sexual history of which to speak. That didn’t stop her now, however, from wondering what it would feel like to see behind the cool facade of Stannis Baratheon. 

“What do you think?” Stannis grimaced, holding up a rather wonky looking gingerbread man. “I mean, he looks rather…”

“Drunk” Sansa couldn’t help but giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. 

Stannis gave an odd sort of chortle, “We can name him ‘Robert’, then” he added and Sansa burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the kitchen. He had a hidden sense of humor, how wonderfully unexpected.

Stannis proudly set the gingerbread man in the center of the plate of decorated pieces, moving on to add icing to another one. Sansa watched his hands, large and strong hands that had soothed her once, as they did their best to delicately place icing on the cookies. She worked alongside him, decorating each piece with candy and gumdrops, Christmas music playing in the background, though softly enough to not wake the children.

“Why are you here, Stannis?” she heard herself ask before it registered that she was talking. 

He paused his icing and set the frosting bag aside, but did not face her, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Is that--is that wicked of me?” 

“No” she admitted. “I have thought of you many times since that day.” 

He finally met her eyes, “I did not want you to feel alone, not today. I had hoped to help, in some way.” 

“I don’t know how to be a mother. I don’t know how to help, or what help I need” she admitted. 

“I am sorry for that, though judging by the decorations, you’re doing well so far,” he said. “I am not a young or affable man, but I do care---” he paused, looking away from her for several seconds, as if he had not intended to say as much.

“Do you think” she said, pausing as he looked back to her. “Do you think that if we had met--truly met before, that we would have…”

“Would have what?” he prompted, turning in his perch on the kitchen stool to face her. 

Sansa didn’t speak for several moments, for she could not find the words. Still she moved closer to him, the rich smell of him filling her nostrils. She reached out to touch his forearm, bared by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt, running her fingers over the strong flesh. 

“Do you think we would have allowed ourselves to feel this” she whispered, her hand slipping to his where their fingers entwined. 

“I don’t _allow_ myself to feel much” Stannis admitted softly. 

“Is it because you feel so deeply?” she stepped closer. “So, acutely that you cannot bear to feel anything more than a simple dull ache? Lest it consume you and you will never be able to recover?” 

“Yes” he choked out, eyes wide with undisguised awe. 

“Stannis” she said quietly, boldly stepping into the v of his legs where he sat on the stool. 

“This isn’t why I came here” he whispered, an arm going around her waist. 

“This isn’t why I invited you inside” she closed the distance between them and their bodies pressed together. 

“This isn’t---” his words were silenced when she leaned down and kissed him. Softly, tentatively at first, but when his firm lips softened against hers she pushed deeper. Stannis’ arms both came around her, hands splayed across her back as her own hands traveled up his arms to cup his head and jaw. 

Within his kiss she felt alive, for the first time in many years, she felt alive. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, reviving a heart that had long stopped beating and a soul that had gone stagnant. 

She couldn’t help but whimper as his tongue brushed across her lower lip, delving to tangle with her tongue. He held her firmly, demanding her surrender to his touch, to his kiss. 

She was right, she sighed, sinking into his embrace, Stannis was a dominant, commanding lover. 

He moved her astride his lap, his strong hands moving her with ease and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck as she ground her core against him, the hard length of him pressing against her. 

It was as if her actions had broken chains that held him pinned, held him in control. At her move, his hands dug into her flesh, a feral growl escaping his lips as he delved further into her mouth.

He stood, taking her with him and setting her on the counter as her hands tugged at his dress shirt, untucking it and yanking the buttons loose. Her hands found purchase on his bare flesh, his answering growl meeting her as his hands roamed her bare thighs, raising her skirt to tease her.

Gently, he bit her lower lip, his hands tugging her panties away as her own worked his slacks free, reaching inside to stroke his length. Gods, his large stature was not wasted, not on this man of carefully suppressed passion. 

He pulled the neck of her sweater aside, cupping her breasts through her thin bralette, thrumming a thumb across her nipple, sending sensation through her. 

Scooting to the edge of the counter, she used her hold on his cock to guide him to where she wanted him---no, to where she needed him most. Stannis was a slave to her touch. As commanding as his kiss was, in this he allowed her to guide him. Trusted her to lead them.

She felt him at her core, he paused to meet her eyes, the passion she saw reflected in his nearly stopped her heart. 

“Please” she whimpered, kissing him softly. With a quick adjustment he sank into her, their groans of relief forcing their lips apart. 

She looked into his midnight blue eyes, her hands in his cropped silver hair and his cock stretching her channel. She could feel him, his heartbeat inside of her and through his eyes she saw the wounded soul that he hid from the world. She kissed him to hide the sudden onslaught of emotion she felt, running her hands over the planes of his abdomen and through the silver and black hair across his chest. In turn, his hands were smoothing over her bare skin, over her back, neck and into her hair. 

“Stannis” she gasped as he rocked his hips. The long drag of him within her sensitive flesh sent fire through her, a passion she count not describe. She held to his neck and shoulders as he moved, filling her over and over, their mouths tangled in sloppy kisses that had no care for finesse in the wake of their mutual need. 

The sound of Christmas music barely reached her as he made love to her, slowly and deeply, on the counter that was still covered in cookies and ingredients. 

He cursed softly, leaning close to trail kisses across her neck and shoulder, holding her tightly. So tightly, that she felt safer than she had in years. This man, this incredible, beautiful man, had been right in front of her all along. She all but sobbed in pleasure as he moved-- 

“Sansa” he groaned into the flesh of her neck, one of his hands traveling to where they were joined, strong fingertips strumming over her until she was gasping against his neck. 

“Stannis.”

“Come” he ordered, his deep voice rumbling through her. “Come for me.”

She cried his name on a prayer, over and over as she came, feeling him lose himself, pulsing deep within her until they were both trembling in each others’ arms. He held her with one arm the other hand coming up to toy with a loose curl at her neck, his lips following to trail kisses along her jaw. 

“Stay” she pleaded, her word worth a thousand more as she asked him not abandon her. 

“I’ll stay,” he replied, his words whispered against the corner of her mouth. 

“Why did you come here?” 

“Because I couldn’t stay away” he kissed her softly. “Not anymore.”

“You don’t have to” she smiled against his firm lips. 

“I am not strong enough” he tightened his arms around her. “Not when it comes to you.” 

“Good.”

Christmas morning, though it held its moment of awkward silence when Arya came down the stairs to see him seated beside Sansa at the kitchen table, saw a lift in the boys spirits. Sansa had worked hard to make Christmas a time of joy for all of her siblings. 

The boys were surprised to see that ‘Santa’ had indeed filled their stockings with small treats and gingerbread men, both of them eager to consume the cookies before breakfast. Fortunately, neither of them commented on his poor icing skills.

Arya had nibbled her cookie, watching him with a face so like Ned’s it was disconcerting. He could feel her assessing gaze like a physical assault and he was not socially equipped to deal with such an action. Sansa, seeing the exchange, took his hand and squeezed it, his worries fleeing from his mind at her touch. 

He left for a short while in the afternoon, returning to his quiet, undecorated townhouse to shower, change and pack a small bag, Sansa’s insistence that he promise to return echoing in his mind. 

It had been many years since he had celebrated Christmas Day and even longer since he had woken beside a woman. Waking beside Sansa on Christmas morning was everything he had not dared to hope for. 

He was not a fool. Relationships take work, damned hard work and dedication from both parties and this was only the beginning. That is, if she wanted a relationship with him. Sex---fantastic sex, did not a relationship make. 

Tossing his bag into the car, he drove back to the Stark house, parking once more beside her SUV. 

Before he could knock, the door opened and she ushered him inside, kissing him briefly as she returned to whatever she was cooking in the kitchen. The whole house smelled like apple spices and cinnamon, like Christmas should smell. 

Rickon and Bran were playing with the new video game system he had helped them to set up that morning, neither sparing him a glance as they trash talked to each other. Arya was sitting at the counter, reading a thick novel that he could not see the title of, the dark-haired girl looking up as he joined them. 

“Sansa says you have an MBA” Arya said, setting her book down as he entered the kitchen. 

“I do” he nodded. 

“Was it hard?” she asked. “I start at University in a few weeks, I want to study medieval literature and history.” 

“I chose history as my minor, it is very enjoyable,” he replied.

“Really?” she bit her lower lip. “Is it weird that I like...ya know, the dark stuff?”

“History is all very dark” he agreed. “The modern world has been built by war and killers.” 

“Right?” she turned the book towards him and he saw that it was a brief history of medieval torture. He did his best to school his features. “Too weird?”

“You should like my nephew I think” he said and felt Sansa’s eyes turn to him. “Not that one” he assured Sansa. “One of Robert’s bastards, Gendry Waters. He is a blacksmith, but he works with movie studios to create armor and weapons for movies and television.”

“No way!” Arya beamed. “That is so cool! He makes them?”

“It is quite unique” he nodded. “I will reach out to him.”

“Thank you” Arya took her book back, tapping the cover absently. “I mean, I know its not singing or anything---”

“Singing?” Stannis frowned. 

“San,” Arya explained with a frown. “She gave up the lead at King’s Landing opera---”

“Arya” Sansa set the spoon down on the stove, the sound echoing in the kitchen. “Spare him, please.” 

Stannis looked to Arya and they shared a knowing glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. He had known that she gave up her life to care for her family, but he had not realized _what_ she had given up. 

“Sansa” Rickon came into the kitchen, his shaggy dark hair the same shade as Arya’s. 

“Yeah, bud?” 

“When is dinner? I’m hungry.” 

“Soon” she promised, ruffling his hair. 

“Can I have pie before dinner?” he smirked. 

“Absolutely not” Sansa smiled, ushering him from the kitchen. “Ten minutes, tell your brother.” 

“Alright” Rickon bounded back to the living room. 

That Christmas dinner was his favorite to date. Though slightly somber, the empty chairs at the table hanging over them all, the boys were excited to share their new video game achievements and Arya was content to listen, Sansa having forced her to put down her book.

Later that night, when the children were tucked into bed and Arya was reclining on the couch by the fireplace, nose back in her book of torture, Stannis carried Sansa back to bed.

That Christmas was their first of many together. The first of a great many. 

“Steffon!” Sansa yelled and footsteps clamored down the stairs. 

“What?” he sighed, his expression so like his father’s that Sansa almost smiled. Almost.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Mom?” he corrected his tone.

“You were supposed to take the garbage out hours ago” Sansa kissed his forehead. “Aunt Arya and Uncle Gendry will be here soon.”

“Think Uncle Gendry brought us weapons?” Steffon smirked. 

“Weapons?!” Rickon, now eighteen perked up from his perch on the couch. 

“Easy boys” Sansa chided. “Garbage, please baby.”

“Baby” Steffon sighed. “I am almost ten, Mom, I am not a baby” he protested as he got to work.

“You'll always be my baby” she smiled. 

“I thought I was your baby?” Eddard chimed from his seat beside Rickon, the two looking away from their video game. 

“You’re all my babies” Sansa assured her six year old son, another Stannis clone that never failed to make her smile. 

After their first Christmas together, Stannis and Sansa had fallen into an easy relationship. His serious nature was a compliment to her wild heart, and together they were two halves of the same whole. Others had been surprised at their newfound relationship, Robert especially, but they were happy. Soon Stannis’ smile was easy to come and he had found his new role as big-brother to Arya, Bran and Rickon, as easy as breathing. 

As they grew older, Bran and Rickon turned to Stannis for advice or if they need a sympathetic male ear for any plight they had. Stannis had taught them both to tie ties, to drive and helped them through asking their dates to their respective proms. He then helped Arya as she struggled with University work, talking her through essay after essay and being an unfailing supporter of her education. Sansa would never tell him that she saw the tears in his eyes as he watched Arya get her degree.

Arya, of course, adored Stannis for bringing Gendry into her life. A man who loved medieval weaponry more than she did, and loved Arya more than he loved medieval weaponry. They had married after Arya had graduated university, both of them living in King’s Landing and working on weapons together. 

He had become an integral part of their lives, Sansa's especially.

This, of course, was all very good considering the unintended consequences of their first Christmas together. Sansa hadn’t realized it at first, not until the third day in early February that she had spent puking up everything she had eaten. She laughed, then sobbed, realizing that Stannis had given her a child on Christmas Eve. A baby, so unexpected but entirely welcomed.

Their beautiful son, Steffon Davos Baratheon was born at the end of September, as silent and dark as his father. Stannis had stayed at her side every moment, holding her and whispering words of love as she fought to bring their son into the world. 

She loved her strong, serious man; a man who had brought her back to life and changed the course of her future forever. They had married when Steffon was three-months old, Stannis holding the sleeping form of their son as they exchanged vows on the sands of Storm’s End. 

Eddard Robb had followed a few years later, filled with boundless energy despite looking exactly like Stannis. Stannis was a born parent, never had she seen a man more suited to fatherhood than he was. 

And she loved being a mother. She loved it more than anything. 

After they married, Sansa had taken a job as a music teacher, using the years of experience she had to teach at the local junior high and high school, as well as directing all of their plays and musical productions. It wasn’t the career she had chosen as a little girl, but she never once regretted her choice to stay with her siblings. That choice had brought her to Stannis and she would never trade that away. Never.

She would always miss her parents, nothing could fill the vacancy they had left in all of their lives, but with Stannis she had found something new and just as precious. A love that had filled her life with happiness and carried her through the sad times.

The front door opened and the house erupted into chaos as Arya and Gendry burst into the house, Stannis behind them, a smile on his face. 

“Da!” Cassie exclaimed from her seat in the kitchen. Their third child (sixth if you counted Sansa’s siblings), was nearly a year old now and such a beauty that it took Sansa’s breath away. With the bright blue eyes and inky black hair that her brothers also had, Cassana Grace was her little princess. 

“There’s my girl” Stannis scooped Cassie up as Sansa hugged her sister and brother-in-law. Stannis held their little girl to his chest, his hand soothing her back as she leaned against his shoulder.

“Merry Christmas” Sansa hugged Arya tightly before releasing her. 

“Merry Christmas” Arya smiled, moving away to greet her siblings and nephews. 

“Did you bring weapons?” Rickon smiled. 

“Maybe” Gendry smiled and the boys all grinned in anticipation, gathering around the suitcases that Gendry had brought inside. 

“Cool!” Eddard jumped on the couch, his movements ceasing and feet leaving the cushions at Stannis’ hard look. “Sorry, Dad.” Stannis nodded, giving his youngest son a small smile. 

Sansa moved to her husband’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. Even though he was in his early fifties now, her husband was still the most handsome man she had ever met. 

“Hey, you” Sansa went on tiptoe to kiss him. 

“Hello, beautiful” he kissed the tip of her nose. 

“You know what I think?” she smirked. 

“What’s that?” 

“That you’re the best Christmas gift I have ever gotten” Sansa smiled. 

“You know, I happen to think the same about you” he agreed, kissing her temple as they watched their, rather large family now, celebrate Christmas. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


End file.
